


No Smoking around the Bodies (working title)

by thekokapelli



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 18:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekokapelli/pseuds/thekokapelli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watching the show (and in other possession-based fiction) it seemed like demons just possessed people "for the evulz." So I thought it would be fun to write a story in which demons MUST possess people b/c it is their biological imperative, so they're like parasites. Now the demons are dying out b/c they can't breed on their own, so they're using their human hosts as a massive, controlled breeding experiment. Sam, Dean, Bobby and Castiel are trying to stop them (though they won't show up for a few chapters). It's sort of an AU, plot-heavy, and some new characters (demons).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Handle your skin carefully (Prologue Part 1)

Throughout the centuries, I have heard many tales of demonic possession. The details vary, but the basic plot remains the same. The “victim” chants in strange tongues, attacks loved ones, self-mutilates, levitates, and so on. A holy man of some kind, one chosen by whichever deity is popular with humans at the time (it’s hard to keep track), some vague unamused god, must expel the demonic entity from the person’s body, back to wherever it came from. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn’t.   
Many of my kind (those less evolved or less educated) are sometimes guilty of this mishandling of their human skins, I must admit, though I don’t see the point of it, and I’ve never done it myself. If this is how they treat someone they depend on for so many things, I can hardly blame the humans for wanting to get rid of them. Why would you destroy and abuse a perfectly good skin when you can find one that can, often willingly, sustain you for the rest of a human lifespan (admittedly a short time) as long as you were careful? A waste.   
But I shouldn’t hold it too much against such demons, even if that kind of behavior makes the rest of us look bad, and makes it harder for us to do what we need to do. They are less educated than myself, usually, and have internalized a lot of prejudices.   
The year 500 A.D.  
War is bits of metal, the arrowheads and then the bullets as humans changed their methods, passing through human skin. I passed through the humans as their arrows flew, in some battle between two countries I didn’t know. I didn’t know why they were fighting.  
I knew that once I took a human’s body, I would have to avoid being hit too many times. Human weapons could not kill me, but it would damage the body I was in, and being shot got annoying after a while. I would also have to step carefully around the bodies all about me, piled everywhere. Humans became foul-smelling when they died, leaking fluids from every orifice.   
A man near me, the black mist that was my form in the human realm screamed and fell as an arrow hit him in the chest. He was still alive, but would not be for much longer. I had to at now. I entered him and he gasped. I could feel his pain and terror, but they left him as I took over. He could feel me, and I overwhelmed all other things and feelings.   
“Are you ready to die?” I said. “Are you satisfied with your life as it has been? Or do you think your soul might go to Hell?”  
“Will you stay with me until I die?” he said.  
If I had a face, I would have smiled. The man felt my amusement and smiled himself, though he did not understand why.   
“I will take over your body, and take your soul, you’ll allow me, and then I will always stay with you,” I said.  
I felt nothing but disdain and mild revulsion for his dying body, but his soul felt right and good. He didn’t like that I didn’t like the smell and feel of his body, but he didn’t know why. Whether he accepted my offer or not, (and I thought he would) he would not live long enough to understand his new feelings.  
“You will not have to face Heaven’s judgment,” I said. “Although you also can never enter it. You will not feel pain and your soul will be dormant most of the time, though it will not die.”  
“I accept,” he said.  
“Are you sure? You can never go back.”   
“Yes,” he said.   
“You are lucky,” she said. “If I were an angel, it would be much more painful for you.”   
I felt no hesitation in him. If he could, he would have ripped his soul out of his own body and thrown it to me. I took his soul and felt his peace. He sighed, and as I left his body again, I saw that his dead face was smiling.   
Feeling strengthened, I floated around, looking for the skin I wanted to wear. I had felt the presence of one on this battlefield, strong enough to be felt even from The Pit, and I had learned over the centuries to trust such feelings. I saw many women fighting and I tried to pay attention to them. Generally I preferred to possess women, and in that way I suppose I am female. No one in The Pit, and in this black smoke form, had any genders.   
I watched a woman with dark skin and short hair fight a pale-skinned man with swords. I knew that this sometimes happened with humans, but I could never keep the details straight. I suppose I would care about racial and gender issues one I found a body to take over. That usually happened.


	2. A Boy and his Demon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some backstory for Bellis, as told from the perspective of a mercenary. (This will be followed up on, I swear!)

As told by Lieutenant Castille to Friar Tomas Vasces  
Anno Domini 1527  
Captain did not tell me where we were going. He just got on his horse and waited, staring at me until I mounted my own horse.   
As we rode out, Captain told Second Lieutenant Piedre that he was in charge until we returned.  
“Shall we form an escort, sir?” Piedre said.  
Captain stared at him with an eyebrow raised. Piedre saluted and waved us off.   
We rode for two days, stopping for meals and rest. I occasionally attempted conversation, but I was waved off by my superior officer, who was even more taciturn than usual. I never asked where we were going or what we were meant to do.  
At one point, the Captain gave me a blade about the length of my forearm. I was not familiar with the material, but it was rusty and partially degraded.  
“Er—sir? Permission to ask a question?”  
“Yes?”  
“I was just curious as to what I might need this for. Is this a job? If it is, is there something wrong with my own sword?”  
I touched my own aging, but still well-preserved sword’s hilt, strapped across my back.   
“You won’t need that sword for this job. If you have to, use the dirk.”  
“Yes, Captain.”   
We arrived at a noble’s castle. I had never been there, but I knew by the crest that it belonged to Lord Travarian, a wealthy man.   
A page boy answered the door, a skinny, pale little slip of a thing just taller than my waist and barely reaching even Captain’s chest. His eyes were downcast, and as he led us down the hallway, his shoulders were slumped.  
“Captain? Do you mean for us to work for this man? Because I don’t think¬-¬“  
“What?!” Captain’s voice was loud and harsh. The boy and I both jumped. We paused walking, and the boy stopped and waited. “How should we earn money, then? Should I simply keep fighting battle after battle until all of my soldiers are dead?”   
The boy and I both crossed our hands behind our backs and stared at the floor.   
“Sorry, sir,” I said.  
“Fine, then. Let’s go on.”  
Lord Travarian was younger than either Captain or I, and surprisingly handsome and affable. Next to his chair stood an adolescent boy, several years older than the other boys, and in full livery. Lord Travarian stood and bowed at his waist as we entered his dining hall. Several other people were seated with him, wearing masks, most likely noblemen by their manner of dress.  
“Welcome, gentlemen!” he said. “You honor me with your visit. I’ve often been entertained by tales of your campaigns.”   
As we sat, another page boy brought goblets of wine. Lord Travarian patted the boy’s shoulder in thanks as he was served his wine, and the boy bobbed his head and left. None of his other guests spoke or greeted us. Captain brushed his hand over my goblet, silently indicating I should not drink the wine. I would not have done it, anyway. This was still a job, after all.   
Lord Travarian’s young valet bowed and left the hall. He returned moments later, leading a group of boys about the age of the page boy who had answered the door. Some were pale-skinned, others brown-skinned, but all were small and thin, with too-long hair, and they all huddled together, as though each was afraid to be the first to enter the hall.   
Captain put a hand on my shoulder. It was not something he did often, but when he did, he always soothed me. Lord Travarian stood up and spread out his arms. His masked companions stood up as well, they all linked hands and began chanting in a language I did not recognize, though that says little admittedly, as I cannot read or write. I was about to stand up as well, but Captain tightened his grip on my shoulder and forced me back into my chair.   
The valet walked among the huddled group of boys. He held a dagger and he started cutting each boy’s wrists, one by one. He was not seriously injuring them, but he yanked their wrists out and slapped them if they took too long to hold out their arms. I stood from my chair for the second time, but Captain pushed me back down again. The whole time, Lord Travarian and the masked noblemen did not stop chanting.   
One of the boys, when his turn came, wrenched the knife away with both hands and stabbed the young valet in the arm. Captain tightened his grip on my shoulder. The noblemen continued their chanting. The valet took the knife out of his arm, and the boy started to run away. Captain jumped out of his chair, grabbed the boy by the tunic and dragged him back over to the valet. He struck the boy across the head with the dagger’s hilt, still bleeding.   
There was some kind of black liquid coming out of the floor. One of the masked noblemen broke the circle and pointed at it, and they all turned to look. I stood up, instinctively reaching for my sword from my back, but Captain pulled out his rusty dirk and gestured toward his hip, indicating that I should get my own dirk, which I had also put at my hip. I took out the dirk but I was knocked backward by some kind of wind that hit me in the chest. I was slammed against the wall, and it felt like something was pressing down on my throat. Several of the boys and the noblemen also flew against the wall. Captain stumbled but grabbed onto the dining table and managed to steady himself.   
I felt a liquid force itself into my mouth, a liquid that was first cold and then so hot that I choked and gagged and coughed. I tried to spit it out but it rammed itself back into my throat, and I fell on all fours, my eyes watering as it moved into my stomach. I vomited all over the floor, and it was dark red and black. Captain ran over to me and thumped me on the back. My eyes were also burning, as though something were forcing itself out from the inside of my sockets. I screamed and clawed at my eyes.   
“Stop this!” Captain said. “This was not part of the agreement, Travarian!”  
“It—it won’t stay there for very long,” Lord Travarian said. “It can’t.”  
As quickly as it had come, the pain disappeared and then Captain was on the floor screaming, and then he vomited. He tore at his skin with his fingernails until it bled. I knelt by him and held his shoulders while he vomited and writhed, and I tried to stop him from harming himself too badly, but I didn’t know what to do. If Captain had known what was going to happen, why hadn’t he told me so that I would be better able to help him?   
In a moment, the Captain stopped screaming and clutched at his chest, panting. He stood up and pushed me away.  
“Get off me, I’m all right,” he said.   
“Where did it go?” Travarian said.   
We all looked around the room. The boy who had stabbed the valet lay on the floor. I went to him and bent over to feel his pulse.   
“He’s not dead, just stunned,” I said.   
Captain came over and put a hand on the boys’ forehead, but no one else paid us any attention.  
Then the boy’s head snapped up and rolled around. He jumped without bending his knees to his feet. Captain reached out to him, but the boy pushed his hand away and Captain stumbled backward and could barely keep his footing. The boy thrashed and flailed his arms, staggering around. With his tongue hanging out of his mouth, he looked almost comical, like some crazed mummer. I would have laughed, except Captain would have had me whipped when we got home.   
Suddenly the boy was calm. He stood still. His eyes were completely black.   
“It’s all right,” he said. His voice was not one of a prepubescent boy. It was a deep, strong, quiet woman’s contralto.   
Lord Travarian’s young valet came at the boy holding his knife. The boy grabbed his knife and twisted his arm around, forcing it behind his back and pushing him down. I heard the sound of a bone snapping, like a leg of chicken being pulled apart. The valet writhed and screamed. The boy tapped the valet’s forehead with one finger, and the valet passed out.   
“I have nothing against any of you,” the boy said.   
“Are you the demon Bellis?” said Lord Travarian.  
The boy (demon?) nodded.   
“This is the best skin here,” he (she? It?) said. “I honor agreements. I’ll do as the boy asks me.”   
Translator’s Note: The passage ends here.


End file.
